haolehothead | Timeloop

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- game: tabula rasa

Timeloop

Danny wakes up to the severe pain in his back that only comes accompanied by his pull-out bed. The alarm is blaring, the police radio is sounding that someone needs to check on John McGarrett, and when Danny rolls over to turn off the alarm, his body comes into contact with about two hundred pounds (give or take) of warm flesh. Danny doesn't have to think much to know what this day is. True, the events after he goes to the crime scene are just a little bit more vivid, but he'd been on the island the day that John McGarrett was killed and that was the day he'd picked up the case.

He wakes up fully, giving a wary look beneath him and bracing his weight against Steve's torso with both palms, staring at Steve in the pull-out bed of his crappy apartment. This is going to be so bad for Steve and Danny isn't even sure how to begin going about it. How do you? Steve had been thousands of miles away the first time this happened, there's no way that he's going to deal with this normally. It's Steve, after all.

And the radio keeps asking for someone to check on McGarrett, who went AWOL after lunch.

Danny knows this isn't possible, this has to be a bad dream. He pinches at the flesh of his skin, but it aches thoroughly and now he's faced with the knowledge that he has to figure out how to tell Steve about this. "Steve," he hisses, pushing at him. "Steve, wake up."

First he gets him awake and calm, then they figure out what to do about all this.

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"I won't know until I get in there. As far as I could tell last time, he might've had a knife," Steve replies, his gun already drawn. "But he's not going to get close enough to use it on my father."

The way he gets into the house is the same as before - create a distraction, take down the extra man, put Hesse's attention on the front door to give Danny time to sneak around the back and through the lanai, and Steve remembers not to enter until Hesse is off the phone.

"We can talk about this like honorable men, Victor," Steve says, his hands away from his own gun, his gaze occasionally flicking to the one in Hesse's hand. "No guns."

Danny lets out a muttered curse as he shakes his head, hating Steve right now for trying to use logic with a fucking terrorist. He's in position at the back door, crouched over as his knees start to ache. Steve, what the hell are you doing? he thinks to himself, breathing in rapidly and worriedly.

What if he loses Steve today? What if that's the price he pays in all this?

"Look, Victor, look - I'm putting my gun down," Steve promises, taking his gun out of the thigh holster, setting it down on the table and sliding it across the wood, putting it as far away from himself as possible. Hesse hesitates - Steve can see his index finger moving along the trigger - but he points his gun away, sets it down, his expression incomprehensible.

"Fine. Why don't we talk about the part where you're going to release my brother, McGarrett?" he responds, and Steve shakes his head.

"You know I can't do that, Victor, and you're only creating more problems for yourself by doing this," Steve firmly says. "We're not going to negotiate with terrorists."

Danny is still inwardly cursing because Steve's not only put his gun out of reach, but he's started to use language like 'we're', and Danny's growling to himself. He hears the word, knows to get moving, and creeps into the back door -- this time avoiding the step. He gets to John and crouches over by his back, working at the ropes with shaky hands that he can't manage to stop.

"I'm with Steve," he whispers, quiet as he gets. "I'm gonna get you out, okay?"

"You're the one who's creating problems for yourself, Steve," Hesse says, biting out the name through gritted teeth, and Steve sees his fingers twitch for his knife seconds before he reaches for it, grabbing the first thing within reach - a lamp, something decorative - and tosses it at Hesse's head before he can arm himself.

He drops as Hesse reaches for his gun on the table, fires into the living room seconds after Steve manages to dive behind the couch. He's got the henchman's gun jammed into his boot, pulls it out and aims from the floor, around the couch, but only catches a blur of Hesse's back as he darts in.

"Don't shoot, McGarrett," Hesse shouts, "or I'll put a bullet in your man."

Danny's faced down death before. He's seen it so many times on the job and has been in a number of situations where he really thought he wasn't going to see the next day. Standing there with his arms in the air, John McGarrett's ropes loose and the man free, he thinks to himself that at least, at least this one is worth it.

Grace will still have Rachel and Stan. She won't miss him too much when she gets older and the memories start to fade. And Steve...well, Steve will get over him when he meets someone better. Danny's staring death down and all he knows is that there's a kind of peace to it when he knows that he's set Steve's father free to live.

"Shoot, Steve," Danny coaxes. "Shoot him."

Steve's rushing into the room, gun in his hands - damn it, Victor's got Danny staring down the barrel of his gun, his father nursing bruised ribs in the corner, and Steve's looking from Hesse to Danny and back again.

"Danny," Steve breathes. "Danny, I - "

The phone in Hesse's pocket rings and Steve's heart sinks. It's him the other-Steve, calling to tell Hesse about his brother. Hesse swallows with realization. The phone keeps ringing.

"McGarrett," Hesse says, speaking slowly and plainly, almost too calm for a man holding someone at gunpoint. "Is my brother dead?"

Steve can't bring himself to answer, but his silence speaks volumes.

"Then so's your man."

Hesse sneers, and pulls the trigger.

Danny's world goes dark.

It goes dark and then suddenly there's too-bright sun in his eyes and the morning birds are chirping again and the radio is buzzing in the corner. There's no physical pain, but there might as well be for the way that Danny's body is trying to curl in on himself and he turns away from Steve and pulls the covers higher.

He doesn't want to relive this goddamn day, not now, not after that. It's only been a matter of hours, but they've failed twice and there are phantom aches all over his body.

The scream that rises up in Steve's chest only explodes as he rolls over in bed, folding in on himself as though he's trying to break his own body in two. He's met with warm - not sticky warmth under his hands, but smooth, firm warmth - Danny.

His eyes snap open, and a sob chokes up his throat, and he's got his arms around Danny before he even musters the ability to speak, drawing him in, cradling him tight, never wanting to let him go again, not even for more than a minute.

"Oh, God, Danny, Danny, Danno," Steve gasps, putting hands on every single goddamn warm, breathing, living inch of Danny's skin.

Danny's vision is blurry thanks to the tears in his eyes and he turns over to be closer to Steve, pushing aside the mental and physical aches and he breathes in and out in sharp panic, unaware of what else he can do but curl into the warmth of Steve's body, choking out a small sound in his throat. He wants to speak, he wants to insist that he's okay and alive and well, but all he knows is that he's drawing in shaky breaths and he thinks (he knows) that he's just died.

Steve's been shot, knows perfectly well what that feels like, but it's nothing compared to the experience of dying, of seeing Danny crumple and wishing it was him instead - and maybe, just maybe, what he's feeling right now is almost worse than dying, but how can he not be grateful for the rewind button being hit again?

His face is damp as he nudges his cheek against Danny's, lips pressing against his jaw, his temple, seeking out his mouth in desperation, needing to feel that physical reassurance under his lips, his hands, almost clawing at Danny in anguish and gratitude.

"Hey." Danny finally finds his voice. It's hoarse and soft, but he finds it and speaks aloud for the first time since the gunshot. "Hey, shh," he whispers as he lets Steve kiss him in any way he needs, tightening his grip of Steve's torso and holding him in as tightly as he can. "Baby, I'm here."

Steve sighs quietly, releasing what feels like mountains of tension as he breathes out against Danny's mouth, clutching tightly to him. "Damn it, Danny," he groans, tipping his forehead into Danny's shoulder, burying his face against his neck.

Danny grips at Steve harder than before, aware that he's likely to bruise if he keeps this up, but there's a part of him that's all-too-aware of what's just happened and how he refuses to let it happen again. He kisses Steve once more, then again, and one last time, closing his eyes and feeling so exhausted that he doesn't think he can manage to get out of bed.

Not this day.

"It's not your fault, Steve," he murmurs. "It's not your fault."

Steve doesn't answer that, finally relinquishing his grip, sitting up in the bed and smoothing his hands over his face, swinging his legs over to the side and leaning forward, his shoulders visibly hunched.

"When I go over there," he says, lifting his head so that there's no misinterpreting or missing his words, "you're not coming with me this time."

Well. That gets Danny angry again and he practically launches himself into a sit, a growl contained in his throat. "What? What are you talking about? Of course I'm coming with you? What the hell are you even thinking, Steven? What if he kills you, huh? What if he kills you and the day doesn't restart. You don't get to just bench me!"

"I'm making the call, Danny," Steve insists, slowly rising to get dressed, stepping into his pants even as Danny poses the possibilities of what might happen. "I'm going in there - alone - and I'm getting my father out, and I'm not going to let you get shot again."

Danny's on his feet instantly, following Steve with a pained look on his face. "Why? What's the matter with you, huh?" he demands, grabbing at Steve's shirt to haul him back. "I'm not going to...I won't die again, Steve. Stop trying to protect me from the world!"

"It's not the world, Danny, it's a man. One man who didn't even hesitate before putting a bullet in your chest," Steve replies, steadying Danny with a hand along his neck, thumbing over his collarbone. "And I'm going to make sure this isn't going to happen again because I'm not going to leave the option open. You're out this time."

"Goddammit, Steve," Danny says, but it comes out weak. He sinks back onto the bed and lets his head fall into his hands, shaking his head when he doesn't know what to even say in response to that. "Fine," he mutters, finally. It's muffled and short. "Go."

"Wait," Steve says, reaching out to Danny again, dropping the keys to the Camaro in his lap. "Here. Come with me, and stay with the car. If you don't hear from me, you call it in, alright?"

Danny looks up tiredly, not ready to do this back and forth for much longer. He rubs at his tired eyes and nods as he gets up and heads for the car with Steve, taking a deep breath on his way to the parking lot. He's quiet the whole drive, not knowing what to say and unable to help feeling scared as they approach.

Steve's quiet too, for a myriad of reasons - trying to focus on the plan ahead and not on the sight of lifeless bodies, his father's and Danny's, swimming in his mind's eye.

This time, it's Hesse's body he plans on standing over.

Danny swallows hard when they arrive and Steve is right beside him, for the moment. "I need you to think about this rationally. Think about the way you've been going about this, Steve," he warns. "You can't negotiate with this man. Just go in and shoot him, just take a shot. You're a goddamn sniper, aren't you? Take him out!"

Steve nods, slowly, his expression set determinedly. He doesn't have to reach for his gun to know it's there, metal against his thigh, a cold comfort in comparison to the sound of his partner's voice in his ear.

"I know what I have to do," he answers, his voice quiet.

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